The Blood Rage Chronicles
by The Karlminion
Summary: I got rid of the other Blood rage fics so I could put them here. R&R, okay?
1. Blood Rage

_Yes, I deleted my other Blood Rage fics. I did it so I could revise them and put them all in one place. I also got rid of the dedications. Why? They were sappy, for the most part._

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**Blood Rage  
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The castle was in sight; tomorrow they were to lay siege to a Black Fang stronghold.

And Lyn couldn't be happier. Or angrier.

They had been chasing the Black Fang for weeks now, and everywhere they went they had heard stories of their cruelty, their actions. Of how Brendan Reed was no longer the true power behind them. Which was obvious; in the same breath, they spoke of how the Black Fang had once been honorable and just, weeding out royal corruption wherever it reared its ugly head.

No excuse, though, for their more recent actions. _No excuse at all!_ The thought made Lyn's blood boil, and she growled menacingly. In the sleeping bag next to hers, Rebecca heard that growl and shuddered; Lyn had been increasingly moody of late, falling more and more frequently into foul moods when she would hold her sword, the Mani Katti, and mutter to herself. To Rebecca, it seemed that her eyes would turn red at times like this.

The young archer, though skilled, was still just an innocent girl. She knew nothing of what the older girl was going through. Wallace did, though. The old bear had noticed Lyn's behavior a well, and knew it for what it was; Blood Rage. That infamous state of mind that made true Sacaean swordsmen so deadly. Only one thing could ease the torment it wreaked upon the victim's mind and soul: a nice, bloody battle. Tomorrow, they would get one.

Finally, the sun rose. The camp rose with it. Horses and Pegasi were saddled, armor was donned. Swords, axes, bows, and lances were taken up. Books were hastily studied for one last bit of know-how.

The army rose as one and marched forth; at its head were seven people. Three were young lords of Lycia; another was a massive, bald old man wearing incredibly thick armor. The fourth was an inconspicuous young man bearing a small telescope with strange markings, and a small horn slung over his back. There was a black-cloaked man with a dagger and a scar down his face, and a thin, youngish man with gray hair and a kind eye for the beautiful woman striding beside him, carrying a large bow.

The army stopped; the inconspicuous man took his telescope, aimed it at various points and muttered to himself. Then he pointed and gave instructions into a small box in his hand. As he spoke, three huge men with axes stepped forth from the group behind them and stood their ground, two young archers right behind them. Six mounted warriors rode from behind and took their positions; two had swords, two had lances, one had an axe, and the last carried a bow.

Two swordsmen stepped to the rear and took positions around a tent, oddly out of place on a battlefield. The old man up front stepped forward, brandishing his lance and laughing wildly; our heroine, Lyn, stepped with him, her sword singing its battle hymn in her veins, the light of Blood Rage glowing in her eyes.

The inconspicuous man put away his telescope and took his horn to hand. He paused for a second, thinking at that last second that his strategy might not work. One of the Lycian lords, a red-haired man little older than Lyn, clapped him on the shoulder and said a few words.

The man hesitated still, then he shrugged. Finally, he put his horn to his lips and blew, blew for all he was worth. The sound of the horn was loud and long, and it carried far into the snowy day. He sounded it once more, and the army at his back began a chant. He blew again; the chant sped up. Again, and this time the note was higher; his army began stomping their feet. A last sounding, longer, louder, and higher than the others. At the same time the army gave voice to a great cry, and they finally moved forward. Battle was at hand! Woe to the enemy!

Without warning, four wyvern riders swooped down from behind one of the buildings; the two who had been eyeing each other leaped forward, one waving his hands in the air and chanting strange words, while his wife twirled an arrow in her hand and fired at the leading wyvern. It fell to the ground, dead, and crushed it rider, while the other three burned with sacred fire. Another group of riders came forth, and the two warriors ran forth, laughing and yelling as their blood boiled in the heat of battle.

Meanwhile, the scarred man was unlocking a door. It opened, and the bald old man charged forth, laughing and twirling his lance, with Lyn at his side. One foe, his axe dripping an unhealthy green fluid, rushed at Lyn; she easily dodged. Right then, her sword sang louder than ever; its magic activated. Lyn seemed to split and multiply into seven people, all alike, and within seconds the three Black Fang flunkies that hadn't been chopped in half by the flailing blue-clothed dolt were sliced into several ribbons. Coming back together, Lyn sheathed her sword and laughed: but the bloody light did not go out of her eyes.

Elsewhere, the battle was going well. Two of the axe warriors, one a somber, dry-humored man with brown hair and brown clothes, the other a dolt with a loud yell and blue clothes, were easily cutting down the foe; the whole time, the dry one's face never showed any emotion beyond a faintly sarcastic look of distaste. The dolt never stopped laughing or charging, knowing that his friend was watching his back.

The two other lords, fast friends both, were whirling around each other, a duet of death and pain. The scarred man looked on from his fight with an archer and wondered how the smaller of them, a young man with a rapier, managed to avoid the other's axe.

Lyn ran up, still laughing, and stopped to wait for the old man. The two had been friends since the beginning; they planned on going around the world and eliminating every bandit camp they found, once this mess with the Black Fang was over with. They were joined by a pensive young man dressed in orange robes, followed laboriously by a heavily robed man with a monocle, purple hair, and an aura of power about him. One by one, their foes fell beneath their spells and their weapons.

In a building further on, four of the horsemen had gathered. Before them were a heavily armored person and a group of able-looking mercenaries. The older of the paladins, grey-haired and wise, rushed forward to engage them with his axe. He was closely followed by a haphazard rider whose greenish-blue hair fell about his face and obscured his vision; one wondered how he fought with all that hair in the way. While they occupied the foe from the front, the two other riders, green and red, rode around to attack from behind. Sword and lance struck in unison with axe and spear; their foes fell, unable to deal with an attack from two fronts.

Finally, all the minions and flunkies were done in; all the treasure was plundered. All that now stood in their way was a crazed, nameless assassin. They had avoided him until now, for he wielded a Light Brand, a fearsome magic sword. But now, with everybody gathered around, the man with the telescope was issuing a plan.

Suddenly, the Mani Katti sang out in Lyn's heart. The words of the inconspicuous man were lost to her, and without consulting anyone she ran into the building, the splitting and multiplying already beginning. The assassin stared; one person turning into seven? He was still trying to work it out; he hadn't even drawn his Light Brand; when seven swords cut through him, turning him into so much flayed meat.

It was over in three seconds; the day's work was done. Our heroine came away with two things; a new sword, and a peace of mind that she hadn't known in a long time. No doubt the Blood Rage would be back, hopefully in time for the next battle. But until then, Lyn would be content.

_**End**_


	2. By the Light of the Full Moon

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**_By the Light of the Full Moon  
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"Alright, boys, there it is: the Lorca camp." The speaker, a rough looking hooligan with a woodsman's axe in hand, motioned his men forward. All of them had similar axes, and similar starved looks about them. Their clothes, which had once been relatively fine as far as bandits went, were now little better than rags.

The group of men, about twenty in all, stole forward with murderous intent in their eyes. "Those Lorca bastards are the wealthiest of the tribes of Sacae, men. The way they flaunt that wealth everywhere. Just look at those necklaces, earrings, fancy horse tack... and the food. All that food… they don't deserve it, do they, boys?" The other bandits grunted in the affirmative; they were eager to bring the Lorca down a notch or two.

Never mind the fact that Lorca hunters frequently brought in so much game that Hassar, the chieftain, was always sending the extra meat and skins off to other tribes. Never mind that most of it was smoked and preserved. Never mind that right now, they were sound asleep like lords after a long party. Never mind that after a while, all that meat, dry or fresh, tasted the same. Never mind the fact that their only real crime was flaunting their wealth...

Never minding these facts, the brigands stole forth out of the night, murder in their hollow eyes. Minutes later, the screams began… then the burning…

Miles away Lyn of the Lorca, daughter of Chief Hassar and his foreign wife, Madelyn, rode her horse across the endless grass and laughed. The full moon was exceptionally bright that night, and she could see all sorts of things; rabbit burrows, badger tracks, horse trails, all the denizens of Sacae were open to Lyn and her laughing eye. 'I'd never give up this freedom. Never!' Her horse seemed to hear her, and he went faster. All the while Lyn was laughing fit to burst, laughing because she was free, because the moon was in her veins, and her sword was at her side.

The tribal elders shook their heads at her; Lorca women weren't supposed to have swords, only bows. But she was the chieftain's daughter, so she could do what she wanted. Besides, her skill with the sword was so great that only Hassar, her father, could stand and fight her head on. But with a bow she was abysmal; even the young ones could shoot straighter and faster than she could. And she would be nineteen come summer.

The moon was getting low, and it occurred to Lyn that she should get back to camp and get some sleep. No one minded her nightly excursions; indeed no one could stop her, especially during the full moon. For when the moon was full, the moon sickness took Lyn and she had to run, run across the endless plains of grass. No one knew what she ran towards, or from. Least of all Lyn herself.

She topped a low ridge and the laughter died off abruptly. For what she saw was such a sight that the sickness temporarily left her. Right then, she wished that her eyes weren't so sharp in the light of the full moon. But they were, and what they inexorably took in every detail of was the remnants of a camp. Her camp, the camp of the Lorca. Her home, desecrated and burned.

A strange anger filling her, Lyn rode into the ruins. Her eyes took in the damage; bodies piled here and there, tents flattened and burned. Personal effects and tools scattered hither and yon. Swords and bows strewn about haphazardly. But no food. No food...

"Help! Lyn, is that you? Help me!" The cries came from one of the elders, Tomasa. He was stuck beneath a smoldering canvas tent flap, and the wind was picking up. Lyn ran over, pulled him out, and stamped out the cinders. She turned to the old man she had rescued. "Who did this, Tomasa? _Who did this?_" The old man looked into Lyn's eyes and saw a terrible thing; deep within them, a red glow was flaring to life, a red glow that had nothing to do with the fire that surrounded them. He knew what it was; Blood Rage. He knew that it would come fully to life if she saw her parents...

"Tomasa! Who did this, where are my parents?" He sighed. "Come with me, child. We will speak as we walk." The two of them wandered through the camp, aiding the few other survivors; ten in all, including Lyn. Her parents were not among them. An old woman, Hassar's mother, wailed; "It was those Taliver bastards! They came through and killed all within their reach, they took our food, and when it wasn't to their liking they killed more of us and burned it all down!" She broke into tears. "Hassar tried to stop them. But they surrounded him and cut him down like a dog!" Lyn became quiet at this; Tomasa looked into her eyes and saw the red glow becoming brighter. "What about my mother?"

No one would meet her eyes then. Instead, they all pointed to the collapsed remains of the biggest tent. Lyn was afraid of what she would find. She didn't want to go over there and see, oh no. Anything but that.

But her feet chose that moment to take over from her brain and walk of their own volition. Then her hands rebelled and moved canvas around until a body was revealed. A body covered in blood, with a thick whitish fluid Lyn had never seen before drying on its thighs. The body was her mother's remains. She had a dark hunch as to what the fluid was.

She turned and walked back towards the people gathered, and they saw that her eyes were full of blood-colored flame. She walked past them to her father's body, where she bent down and took his sword. Plain iron, yes, but still her father's sword. Then, in a ringing voice, she swore this vengeance:_ "Upon the body of my mother and the hilt of my father's sword, I swear to Mother Earth and Father Sky that the monsters who did this will die by _my_ hand!"_ At that moment thunder rumbled in the distance, loudly. As if the gods were witnessing her vow.

Lyn turned and walked away. The survivors cringed at the sight of her eyes, her burning, blood-filled eyes. She walked on into the night, not turning, not looking to the side. The survivors of the massacre never saw their chieftain's daughter again.

**_End_**


	3. The Fight to End All Fights

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**_The Fight to End All Fights_**  
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Nergal was dead. 

Just like that, he was dead. Ninian, though, was not. No one knew how this was possible, but she was. Eliwood wasn't arguing; on the contrary, he was too busy... welcoming her back, to argue.

And they were in the next tent over, which meant Lyn could faintly hear every cry, every moan. She wasn't jealous by any means; she just wanted a man of her own. Kent, perhaps.

But everybody avoided her, even Sain. Wallace didn't, but he was too old to do anything with. The only reason he stuck around was because he knew what was wrong with her, why everybody avoided her. Frankly, he laughed at them.

Across the camp, Kent and Sain, the inseparable duo, were arguing over Lyn. "Sain, we know something is wrong with her. Hell, we've always known. But we don't know what it is. And now that Nergal is dead and the whole business is over with, we've got to do something!" "Kent, I've told you before; she's got the Blood Rage. There's nothing you can do about that." "We don't know for sure! We've got to ask someone!"

Sain sighed; his friend, aside from being head over heels for their fair lady, was also rather blunt when it came to women. "Alright, fine. Let's ask Sir Wallace; he's like another grandfather to her, and he's old." "Hard to tell, the way he is." "Ha-ha, true! But really, if anyone would know something, he would. Let's go."

They walked to Wallace's tent, where the old man was sitting and scrubbing his armor. He looked up at the sound of their footsteps. "Ah-ha! It's the mooncalf Commanders of Caelin's 'military'! What can I do for you?" They relaxed slightly; Wallace's blustery manner, though tiresome, was nonetheless open. It invited similar openness.

Kent spoke first. "Well, sir, it's Lyn. We've known something's been wrong with her, but we don't know what it is." "What! You've traveled with her all this time and you haven't figured it out yet?!? Mooncalves!" "Sir…"

He cut them off with a wave of his hand. "Kent, I've seen how you look at Lady Lyndis. Hell, everybody has seen it." The boy turned crimson and looked down, muttering nonsense about duty and concern; Sain nudged him and snickered.

"Ha! Don't try to hide it, boy! Everybody looks at her that way! Well, not me." Kent looked up quickly, an expression of revulsion and disgust on his face, before looking back down again. It was almost too fast to miss; yet it was there. Sain just nodded; he knew it was true.

"I saw that, soldier! Look, we all love her one way or another. Not like you so obviously do, though. So here's what you're going to do: you're going to walk to her tent and confess your feelings to her." The crimson shade on Kent's face faded slightly; here was territory he could be captain of the ship in. "Well... you see, sir... I... have." Quite suddenly, the crimson hue was back in full force, and then some. He returned to staring at the ground and mumbling incoherently about duty and concern. Sain laughed openly now. "Oh look, Kent's in love but he was rejected!"

"Hush, Sain! Did you now, Kent? What did she say?"

"She didn't say anything. She... looked up, smiled distractedly, and went back to staring at her sword. When she looked up again, I... ran. Her eyes... they were..." Kent shuddered violently; he most assuredly did not want to think about those eyes!

Wallace paused. "What about her eyes, my boy?" The crimson drained completely from Kent's face, to be replaced by white, with faint green tinges. "Her eyes... were... red..." The green had suddenly covered his face, and he had to turn aside and vomit rather violently. When he was done, he looked back at his old commander. "I'm sorry, sir. Uh, permission to go clean up?" Wallace laughed. "Boy, you're the commander! What're you asking _me _for?"

Kent's face returned to its red hue as he realized what he had done. Not wanting to embarrass himself further, he ran off to the small river the army was encamped by while they recuperated from the fight with Nergal and the last of the Black Fang. There he threw up again, and then he washed himself.

Sain remained behind with Wallace, lost in thought. "Hmm. Red eyes, huh? You'd think he's never seen them. They're always red, especially before a battle!" Wallace turned on him, fast. "What was that, boy?"

The younger man started. "Huh? Oh, yeah. Her eyes are always red right before a battle." Wallace got a nervous look on his face. "And when did Kent confess to her?"

"Um… earlier this morning…" Sain stopped, horrified. "Oh no. Sir! You know what that could mean?!?" "I do, boy. I do."

Elsewhere, two people were engaged in a serious discussion. "Hector, I don't know what to do with her. Everybody's avoiding her and she's getting depressed. And you know what Wallace said about that." Hector nodded. "Yeah; depression makes it worse. But a good fight makes it better, he said that too."

"True. But there's no one to fight! She's too good of a swordswoman, nor will she fight her friends and comrades, you know that." "No, I don't. But you're right about one thing; she is good. But you know she isn't the only one here that suffers from..." Hector lowered his voice for the rest of their conversation.

After a while, they stood up. "I don't know about your plan, Hector; she might be killed. And she does have friends here in camp, believe it or not." "I know. But it's the only way."

"You know, maybe we should ask Lord Athos, or Canas. They know a lot." "I didn't think of that. Let's go!" So they went to Canas, who listened to their plight. "Well, you know about how the Blood Rage only mainly affects Sacaeans. I bet what you don't know is that it most frequently appears in those who are afflicted with moon sickness?" "We didn't know that. But is there a cure? That's what we want to know."

"Sorry, my lords, but I know not. Maybe the Archsage can tell you something; he is very wise, you know. He knows more than I do!" The two friends walked off, Hector muttering under his breath: "Duh. 'Course Athos knows more than him!"

So they went to Athos, who hailed them. "Ah, Eliwood and Hector. Just the men I was thinking of. Sit down, sit down." Athos had been talking with Lord Pent and Hawkeye, who turned and regarded the two young lords. Hector stared back at Pent, but he couldn't meet Hawkeye's intense gaze.

"You come because of your concern for the Lady Lyndis and her affliction. We three were just now discussing it, you know. Pent has spoken with Sir Wallace (A.N.- hasn't everybody?), and he agrees with us; Lyndis must duel with someone of equal or greater skill than she. This is the only way the Blood Rage can be broken, and even that isn't permanent. There are only four people in this camp who could stand against her in martial combat." "Four? I thought there were only two!" "So you would. But you thought of blatant, outright martial prowess, not the ability that comes from walking in the shadows. Then, there is myself."

The light dawned on the two of them; Athos was right. "But, my lord. We want someone who can stand up to her in a fair fight, not one who would have to dodge and strike from the shadows." "Indeed we do," said Lord Pent, "indeed we do. The problem is talking either of them into doing anything. You know how they are. Well, the only thing we can do is ask, right?" They agreed to the wisdom of this, and the two younger lords walked off, accompanied by Pent, to try and talk someone into possibly going to their deaths.

Their first target was Jaffar; despite what Eliwood had said, they would need him to break up the fight if it got too lopsided. They told him of what was to happen. "...", said Jaffar, accompanied by a nod of the head, accompanied by him turning around and going back into his tent.

"Um... he's in, I guess." Eliwood nodded in reply. "Well, let's go get... her."

"Hey! Hey, wait up!" a cheerful voice called out. They turned to behold Matthew, thief, spy, and assassin extraordinaire. Always with a cheerful smile and a wave, of course. Hector started and tried to hide, but Matthew went straight for his liege lord, as always. "Hello, people! I heard from the eminent Lord Athos that you are on a mission?" "We are, and you weren't invited. Now scram!"

Putting on a hurt air, Matthew proceeded to stumble forward, 'accidentally' falling into Hector's arms. "Oh, the pain! The agony! My lord rejects the aid of his humble and well-informed servant! Woe is I!" Face twisted in mild disgust, Hector pushed his melodramatic spy off of him. "Get off! All right, fine. What do you know? Make it quick." Recovering like nothing had happened, the thief stood up and assumed a businesslike air. "Ahem! Lord Athos wishes to convey to the lords Eliwood and Hector that the subject of the fight must change. Our heroine must fight... him."

A stunned silence followed this declaration. Pent was the first to recover. "Karel will be more than happy to accept a challenge. But one or both of them could die. That won't do!" "Well, he might not. He listens to his sword, you know..."

"Well, so does Lyn. What's the difference?" That made them stop and think. One by one, their expressions became horrified, for it was true; lately, one really couldn't tell the difference between Lyn and Karel. If it weren't for their hair, and other obvious differences, they might have been twins...

There was no other way. If it had been Karla, the outcome might have been more favorable; she would have listened, and held back during the fight, allowing Lyn to wear herself out until the Blood Rage ended, hopefully forever. But Karel wouldn't hold back; rather, he would fight to pull it up and make it bloom. Already the plant was tall and the bud was up, waiting for just the right stimulus to open wide and spill forth its unholy nectar. If that happened, they would have two bloodthirsty Demon Swords on their hands, at least until one killed the other. And that would be inexorable. Undesirable, as well.

But there was a slight chance, as Pent pointed out right then. A chance they would fight to some sort of standstill, and the Blood Rage would leave the both of them. If this happened, they would be uprooting two vile weeds in one fell pull. "Surely this is what Lord Athos wants. He must know what he is doing." That fixed it. Karel would fight Lyn.

They walked to Karel and Karla's tent to find Karla asleep and Karel staring into the fire, muttering to his sword and polishing it. He never looked up at the four who approached him. "Karel, we have need of you." "Nergal is dead, the Black Fang is scattered. What is left for me to do for you?" "Our friend, Lady Lyndis..." "Ah yes. That one. You want me to fight her, and in doing so extinguish the Blood Rage that consumes her, as it does me. You wish to relieve her suffering.

"Yet you do not know the nature of it, and one doesn't usually kill something without understanding it first. It insinuates itself into you, poisoning your thoughts. You start to dream of death and carnage, flashing swords and fierce battles. Your sword becomes your only friend; it takes a life of its own, even! In her case it already has life, and that merely speeds the process onward; for, holy or not, a sword is still a tool of death. That is a sword's basic nature, and nobody can deny their basic nature.

"Those blessed with the Blood Rage, no matter their normal disposition, are killers at heart. There are more of us then you know; I am different because I chose to embrace my basic nature, instead of hiding it. And that makes it easier to bear; for when you hide something that is alive, it tends to grow on its own, and without sunlight and warmth, it grows into something twisted and poisonous. The Blood Rage is no different; hide it, and it grows on you, slowly twisting you around, until it pops out from beneath the rocks you threw on it and takes hold.

"And when it does, the results are unpleasant. You go insane very quickly, and a great rage takes you, so great that you lose control and slaughter anything that moves; the more skill you had when you are taken over, the worse the carnage. Believe me, for I have witnessed this many times; my family history is choked with Blood Rage; infants left at orphanages because their mother or father fell to the Blood Rage after struggling to hide. My dear sister is an exception; her will is strong, and she has overcome it. But it left its marks, as you can see; there is no true escape from the Blood Rage once the first signs have manifested."

Eliwood, Hector, Pent, and Matthew were shocked; they hadn't ever heard Karel say so much at once. Then, Hector got a strange gleam in his eye. "That sounds fine and well, but what I think is this; you're afraid of Lyn." They all stared; Karel looked up. "You call me a coward, my lord?"

"Yes. Yes I do. You say that you are the best in the world? Well, prove it! Beat Lyn, and then we'll believe you. You know, we never really believed you anyway, right, guys?" "Nope, we sure didn't!" Pent has caught on to his ruse. Eliwood came next: "Yeah, you sounded like a braggart. We only took you on because we were desperate for men." Matthew just nodded; he had no idea what was going on, but he wanted to look like he did. Karel stood; the fire in his eyes burned brightly. "Fine. You insult me, you die. But not before I deal with the challenger." With that, he strode out across the camp.

People stood up, staring at him; Karel hardly ever left his tent. Ninian and Nils cowered before their tent as he walked by; their senses were screaming '_Danger! Danger!_' Dorcas saw the little procession, shook his head, and got up to follow. He had known something like this was going to happen eventually, ever since he laid eyes on Karel. The two other Sacaeans, Rath and Guy, looked on with indifference; they knew what was happening, they knew why. Had always known.

They were stopped by Wallace and Sain. "My lords! We must warn you about Lyn! She's going to…" One look at Karel stopped Wallace in his tracks. "Oh. You know about it already. Well, then…" And for the first time anyone could remember, Wallace looked sheepish. Karel cut in: "I've no time for you, you blustery old fool. Out of my way before I cut you into seven separate pieces." Subdued, Wallace and his former protégé fell into step behind the rest of them.

They arrived at Lyn's tent, where Lyn was sitting before the fire, muttering to the Mani Katti and polishing it. Eliwood shivered; she looked so much like Karel had when they walked up to him, it was terrifying. What was even more terrifying was the Mani Katti; it was glowing in the firelight, or so he thought. Lyn looked up the second Karel walked into the light of the fire. She stood, and they stared each other in the eye for ten seconds before bringing their blades up simultaneously and rushing at each other, screaming.

There was a flash when they met; they had disappeared! All that could be seen were flashes of light, sparks, and blurs in the air as the two fighters pressed each strike home, every time to be blocked or parried, then counter parried. There were few amongst the spectators who could keep up with their speed; these few whispered what was happening to those next to them every few seconds.

_Thirty seconds_; a cry was heard from one of the two combatants, and drops of blood fell to the ground. But there was no pause in the furious exchange of slashes and stabs. Sparks from the two blades flew everywhere...

_Sixty seconds_; another cry, more blood, but still no pause, still no sign of a curtain call for this show...

_Ninety seconds_; Lyn broke away, knocking Karel on the side of his head with the flat of her sword to stun him momentarily. In that moment, she threw away the Mani Katti and drew forth the Sol Katti, the stronger companion to the other sword now lying on the ground, covered in blood. In the pause, the spectators could see that the Wo Dao also had blood on it; the eyes of the fighters were now burning brighter then the fire that stood between them. They went back at it...

_150 seconds_; two cries at the same time, more blood on the ground...

_300 seconds_; At last, the tempo of the dance seemed to be slowing down. But then, something in the audience flashed, and both of them stopped. They could see that Karel was bleeding from a deep cut in his arm, a stab wound in his side, and a gash on his neck. They saw that Lyn bled from two cuts in her arm, and a shallow cut on the back of her neck. Again, a flash from the audience, and Matthew stood beside Jaffar, holding two swords in his hands. Jaffar's daggers had blood on them.

Lyn and Karel never noticed their swords had been taken, all they did notice was the eye of their opponent. Slowly, the fires went out of those eyes, the twisted plants died; the Blood Rage left. When it was utterly gone, the two of them fell forward onto the ground, exhausted and weak from blood loss. Serra came forward with her staff to heal them; her face took on a dumbly horrified look when she saw all the blood on the ground.

Karel and Lyn slept for two days, and when they awoke they went to see each other. Each sized up the other in their weakened, freed conditions. Karel smiled, the first true smile he had worn in a long time. Lyn smiled back.

The Blood Rage was gone, the adventure was over; lives could be resumed.

But for those two, life had just begun.


End file.
